


I only wanna be the one you call when things go worse

by orphan_account



Category: GP2 Series RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 13:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8404120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “What the fuck are you doing?” Artem regrets the question before it’s out of his mouth because literally nothing wholesome has ever come of challenging Mitch - although some undeniably pretty fun things have resulted.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [montecarlos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/gifts).



> Sorry wife, I will write your proper fic err... now. But the deadline was happening, so here's Mitchem doing it doggy style.
> 
> Title is from Something For Nothing by Rationale.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Artem regrets the question before it’s out of his mouth because literally nothing wholesome has ever come of challenging Mitch - although some undeniably pretty _fun_ things have resulted.

Mitch makes a puzzled noise at him, like what he’s doing is so obviously explicable that Artem couldn’t possibly need to ask. Which is an odd line to take on looping a bunch of dog leads round his own neck, frankly but then this is Mitch.

They’re out in the woods by Mark Webber’s house, where Mitch is supposed to be dog-sitting for the weekend. Which they are - they’re walking the dogs, they’ve fed the dogs, they’ve brushed the dogs, they’ve been interrupted repeatedly because someone wants walkies, it’s all very conscientious.

Not-especially-secretly but the _unspoken_ reason they’re there is because this season _sucks fucking ass_ and Mitch is _leaving_ and Artem is increasingly struggling to cope with everything. He hadn’t minded being second driver to Mitch - that made sense, Mitch is amazing but getting team-ordered over Lello is beyond grating.

“Don’t want to lose them, right?” Mitch is kind of laughing at him, which he’d find offensive from anyone else but he’s given up listing the exceptions he let’s the Kiwi have. He doesn’t let anyone else stick their dick up his arse, either.

“So you’re wearing them?” Artem’s never seen anything more ridiculous - and he’s slightly worried Mitch is going to somehow throttle himself, which is the kind of concern he doesn’t want to say out loud.

“Better than putting them on you.” Mitch is still joking, brandishing a lead at Artem. The Russian takes the opportunity to throw a ball at an approaching grey barrel of what looks a lot like half-dog, half-mud so that he can avoid Mitch seeing the blush that’s just risen on his cheeks.

“Maybe.” His brain helpfully supplies _that_ fucking picture of Mitch on all fours on a beach and he tries not to let blood rush anywhere that might shock a passing rambler.

They’ve been ...Artem feels like ‘fucking’ is the wrong word, no matter how accurate. ‘Involved with each other’ might be better.   Not per se dating, he isn’t going to take Mitch to a fancy restaurant and gaze into his eyes over the steak tartare - or well, he doesn’t think it would be a good idea for either of their careers so it’s not like it’s ever been an option.

But they do share a lot of nights in hotel rooms, in a very naked way. And Mitch had been patient enough to peel back layer after layer of Artem’s neuroses until they’d actually, finally fallen into bed together.  Mitch had looked so overwhelmed, afterwards, threading his fingers through Artem’s hair and kissing him reverently, like he was something important.

Mitch is something - someone - important. Artem feels a sort of gravitational pull towards Mitch, like the Kiwi’s going to be something that changes his world, maybe everyone’s world. He kind of has already - eighteen months ago there’s no chance Artem would’ve been this comfortable admitting anything, to anyone, let alone dropping his deepest kinky secrets like a breadcrumb trail he knows Mitch will eagerly follow.

Mitch sees straight through him, as always, “Oh _really._ You’re fucking incredible.”

“Not the actual dogs’ lead.” Artem’s not into anything that smells slightly of wet Weimeraner entering the bedroom, on a pretty major level.

“Hmm.” Mitch looks slightly disappointed, then like he’s having an idea, which is fairly unnerving.

Fortunately a labrador makes hard contact with the back of Artem’s knees at the same time, before anything properly against the countryside code happens and he finds himself sprawled on the mud of the path before he can catch himself on anything, painfully winded.

Mitch laughs at him while telling the dog off and offering Artem a hand up at the same time, “Ok shit, Simba - no, bad. Now we’ve gotta end walkies cus you’ve fucked up my boyfriend - spoiling it for everyone, Simba, spoiling it for everyone.”

Artem gasps a bit, halfway through trying to push himself up without putting his hands directly in the mud, only slightly because he slips. He’s Mitch’s boyfriend? He’d never dared to ask for that - not sure what it would even mean, given the worlds they inhabit, it’s not like going public in a homosexual relationship is an option. And he’s pretty sure Mitch is still fooling around with Sean, which he feels like should bother him in a way it completely doesn’t.

He’s got a horrible verbal diarrhea problem, when it comes to Mitch - it was how he’d got himself into this in the first place. “Boyfriend?”

Mitch looks up at him earnestly, eyes shining and looking oddly competitive, like he’s about to say something challenging even though he’s still got the dog leads round his neck and Artem’s front is plastered in mud. It is not quite material for an epic romantic ballad, and yet “Yeah. It’s what I put you down as when I requested a comp ticket for Hong Kong.”

Artem nudges the back of his hand against Mitch’s, trying not to transfer too much mud. “Thank you.” Mitch will get that he means for more than the comp - that’s a lot, that Mitch is planning Artem into his next year still.

“I really want you there.” It tumbles out of Mitch’s mouth a bit too fast and Artem knows he’s actually quite nervous about it, agitated alongside the excitement. It’s the first time in a totally new Paddock for six years, for Mitch - Artem can’t imagine GP2 without him but this is something else, something completely different and far more serious.

“I will be - I want to be.” Artem hates that he sounds a bit strangled - _fuck,_ this is all actually happening. But he’s got a boyfriend, who wants Artem to be at his races and it’s filling him up with warmth, despite the drying mud all over him.

“Ok, shower time for you.” Mitch breaks eye contact, wipes a muddy hand on his own jeans. “And me, to be honest. Shadow! Stop eating that, whatever it is.”

\-------

“So,” Mitch is practically climbing him, one leg brought right up to Artem’s hip so they can grind better. “I was thinking.”

“That must have been hard.” Artem grabs at Mitch’s arse, hauls him up to roughly press their dicks together, through the dressing gowns they’re both wearing post-shower.

“Shut up. I was thinking I might just bend you over and fuck you.” That’s… a very good idea with some obvious logistical problems.

“Did you find a room with a ladder?” It’s not like it’s a secret Artem’s half a foot taller than his ex-teammate, it’s something he low-key gets off on about Mitch. When Artem lets the smaller man crawl into his lap and ride him, or when Mitch pushes him down and fucks him, resting his full bodyweight against Artem.

Mitch punches him lightly in the arm, “No, idiot, on the bed. You seemed to be into a bit of doggy style earlier.”

Artem can’t stop the blush rising - he’s got way less coy about things since him and Mitch got involved, it’s kind of hard to be shy about someone sucking your dick but still, _god._ He really _is_ into it, is the worst thing - he wouldn’t mind Mitch putting him on a collar and lead at all, provided they hadn’t been near a wet labrador first.

“You like that?” Mitch grinds up against him again, digs his fingers into Artem’s shoulders, then brings them up into his hair to pull it up into two peaks, as ears, “You’d be a good boy.”

Oh god, it’s embarrassing how much that phrase undoes him, closing his eyes and shuddering slightly. He’s competitive, alright? He likes being praised, told he’s good, knowing he’s doing well - he _really_ likes it when Mitch does it tenderly, tells him how great he is at sucking dick whilst he’s choking him, how much he loves fucking Artem when he’s inside him, how perfect he is when they’re spooning after.

“You’re always a good boy,” Mitch is practically cooing at him, still holding his hair and humping him, “C’mon, bed.”

Artem scoops Mitch up, which he lowkey loves and highkey always protests about, walks them over to the bed before collapsing backwards so Mitch is on top of him. He’d never really considered the option of being submissive until relatively recently - although he thinks it’s always been a thing for him, just not like, a thing that he’d worked out was a _thing._

With Mitch, he doesn’t think he’s like this with anyone else. Artem gets the impression Mitch might be more than a little submissive himself, a lot of the time. But they’ve got this kinky thing and it’s honestly the _best._

“This isn’t how it works, dude,” Mitch is laughing lightly at him, straddling his waist and still tugging on his hair a bit.

“How do you want me?” Artem tries to make it loving, comes out more serious than he intends.

Mitch stares down at him, expression suddenly softening out of amusement to something deeply affectionate. “Fuck, all the ways - you’ve fucking ruined me. I swear to god Artem, I know I mess around but you’re something else.”

Artem feels his brain almost slide a bit - going into the softer, safer place he gets to with Mitch. He can’t do anything but nod - it would be almost frightening, the way he’d let Mitch do anything to him, _wants_ him to, if he didn’t trust him so much.

Mitch shrugs his own dressing gown off, preening a little under Artem’s gaze - he’s looking even more bronzed and sculpted than he did when they shared a garage, every inch of golden skin a ridge of hard muscle. Artem can’t help staring at the curve of his hips, at the power obvious in his thighs when he moves up his chest, at how swollen and hard his dick is already - it’s clearly not just Artem who’s into the thought of a collar.

“Open your mouth,” Artem does, with a quiet noise as he closes his eyes - he loves this, loves that Mitch takes the time to show him how much he enjoys using Artem’s body, enjoys being anywhere inside him. His cock is hard and hot and nearly choking, pulling back just enough every time Artem almost gags, careful to fuck his mouthon the brink of pain but never over it. It lets Artem test himself, feel satisfied that he’s doing a good job but never, ever hurts him or makes him feel like he couldn’t stop, saliva flooding his mouth as he tries to lick Mitch’s dick at the same time as sucking it.

“God, your mouth is so good. You’re the best on the grid.” He tries not to smile at that, it only leads to gagging but also that is a serious compliment and one he’s pretty sure Mitch has done the full research for. He’s fooled around with other drivers a couple of times himself, since him and Mitch became a thing - just frotting and hand jobs with Alex Lynn and a couple of nice, cuddly encounters with Vandoorne. But he’s pretty confident there’s no one Mitch hasn’t managed to persuade into some sort of compromising position - he is fucking hotter than hell, after all.

Artem opens his eyes to admire him, crouched over to get a better angle to his mouth. Mitch is looking down at him, a totally loving expression as he thrusts down, hits the back of Artem’s throat - “Oh god, you love this so much.”

For a second, he thinks Mitch is just going to come down his throat and then maybe wank him off and they’ll cuddle but he pulls back, an almost regretful expression on his face as he crawls back down Artem’s body, stroking his cock gently once he’s down to his thighs.

“I’m gonna fuck you, baby,” Mitch pushes the dressing gown back of his shoulders, kissing over Artem’s collarbone, “Get on your hands and knees.”

He used to get frantic like this, overheated with need to obey Mitch - six months ago he would’ve nearly fallen over himself trying to get into a position but now he lets Mitch move him, stripping off the rest of the dressing gown as he turns him over, pulls him up onto his knees. Mitch murmurs reassurance, kissing over his back and telling him how pretty he looks, how much he’s going to love it when they’re fucking, how he can’t wait to make Artem beg.

He mewls, content, feeling quiet and almost pacified. His cock is hanging heavily between his legs, his hair flopping over his eyes where he’s resting his head on his forearms, cheek cool against the sheets. It’s been less than six hours since they last fucked and it feels like too long - waiting weeks for this, for the security and intimacy of Mitch taking him apart, is an unbearable prospect after a weekend of having it whenever he needs.

It had started with his anxiety, with cuddles from his more experienced teammate, reassurances and advice that Artem didn’t feel like he could take from anywhere else. The Russian on a Russian team, he didn’t want to disappoint them, didn’t want to admit every time he wasn’t sure what to do or got pre-race nerves. Which made every uncertainty worse, leaving him tied in his own fears.

And then Mitch had started standing too close to him, breathing against Artem’s shoulder every time he’d been agitated, eventually moved to wrapping arms around his waist from behind, rooting him. He’d got used to leaning back into him, breathing evenly the whole time they were connected, craving it as much as the racing.

When Mitch had cuddled up to his chest one day, seeking his own comfort, Artem hadn’t thought twice about pulling him against himself, letting Mitch share his bodyheat. It hadn’t taken much to graduate to Mitch threading fingers through his hair, watching the way it calmed him down, how easy he was to lead to a couch, then a bed, then to shyly ask Mitch for things he didn’t know how to put into words.

He’d wanted more, more of that deep calm Mitch could put him into, more of the soft way Mitch looked at him, the way he seemed to turn more caring, protective about Artem. Mitch was tough and cocky and blustery with the others, flirty and teasing at his most intimate - then looked half-surprised at himself sometimes whilst he was massaging Artem’s scalp, telling him to calm down, to be good for Mitch.

Which had stumbled towards some light spanking, one day, before they even kissed. Mitch looking at him wondrously as Artem, pressed against the garage wall, whimpered with satisfaction at every slap. Possibly he should’ve realised it wasn’t heterosexuality central to snuggle the way they did before but somewhere between Mitch’s hand and the cool concrete of the wall he’d found himself fantasising about the Kiwi’s cock in his mouth and well, here they are.

Mitch is gorgeous, impossibly so, hotter than anyone Artem had ever really considered it a possibility to get off with but it’s not even that - he’s had girlfriends he’s fancied just as much, they’ve just never been able to do this to him, with him. He’s an idiot and in love and he still can’t get over Mitch making it official earlier.

Mitch presses a kiss against his arse, fondling between Artem’s legs as he hears the familiar sound of the lube being uncapped, the plasticky pop in the quietness of the room making him settle further against the sheets, raise his hips in anticipation.

“Tell me to stop whenever you want,” Artem smiles against the sheets, grunts a ‘yes’ out - Mitch tells him every time, has stopped immediately the couple of times it’s got too much for him. Every time Mitch has just held him softly, once wanked him off, Artem so close by the time he’d had to say no that he couldn’t settle until Mitch coaxed him into coming on his hand, let him fall asleep with Mitch’s fingers in his mouth. It’s about caring.

Mitch caresses down his left inside thigh, spreads his arse with his other hand, spitting on him to rub a thumb slickly over his hole, “God, you’re so open - wish we could do this all the time.”

Artem whines helplessly, needy for more of Mitch praising the way he’s worked his way into Artem’s body, heart, life. He feels slick fingers enter him, working lube in quickly - Mitch had washed him clean in the shower, fingering him gently to be sure, letting Artem lean over him and whine quietly. He hadn’t expected care, assuming they were just sluicing the mud off before anything could happen but after they’d lathered each other, mostly still laughing from the walk, Mitch had turned possessive and gentle, started sending him on the way to this amazing, soft zone.

His world has reduced to sensation, Mitch’s fingers on and in him and the cotton on his forearms and under his knees, pleasure and grounding and _fuck_ he wants more, mutters ‘please’ a few times.

“You know it took me like six months to translate that?” Artem’s slightly jolted out of the dreamy state he’d been hanging in, realising Mitch is asking him a question.

“What?” Mitch withdraws his fingers and he bites his lip for a second, “Don’t stop - I can’t. Please?”

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” Mitch kisses down his back, as he hears the sound of a condom packet tearing, “I’m here, I’m here.”

Artem hums, slightly pushing back against him - he’s a little too far along but he’s pretty sure Mitch understands, giving his balls a gentle fondle rather than stroking his cock as he slides in, still talking to him, “Fuck, you’re so good - lean forward, baby, your thighs are ridiculous. Oh, fuck, yes - yes, good boy.”

He whimpers, feeling Mitch slide all the way into him and stop, grinding gently into him rather than thrusting, one hand on Artem’s back and one on his right leg, “You talk Russian when I’m fucking you - it’s really hot. But it takes me ages to work out what you’ve said.”

Artem doesn’t bother responding to that, other than to luxuriate in Mitch’s touch, in feeling how deep he is, lets the Kiwi carry on talking.

“It sounds like _pashulsta,_ fucking impossible to google. Had to ask Carlos and he’s like ‘I don’t know but I think it’s good,” Mitch bends over him, kisses wherever he can reach. “Should’ve asked you what ‘please’ was before but I thought it was just something cute you were calling me.”

Artem smiles at that, realises what Mitch is asking _him_ for, because there’s a give and take to this and mumbles out ‘ _пожалуйста_ ,’ feels his - fuck - boyfriend smile against his back, pull his hips back and thrusts hard.

It’s not 50 Shades of Grey, he’s never had Mitch get whips and chains out, it’s just - sometimes he wants to be down like this, to have someone else take control, to feel the trust between them. It’s basic on the most serious level, stripped back to something primal and instinctive and pure.

“Oh god,” Mitch is always loudly appreciative, careful to tell him how much he’s enjoying their encounters. “Fuck, Artem, I’m gonna get you a collar - gonna, fuck, I’m gonna get you on a lead, keep you on it in my flat. You’d look so good - have to spank you if you hump my leg before you’re allowed.”

That really shouldn’t be sexy. His ex-teammate treating him like a puppy is not in the list of things a young man should be into but Artem can’t stop a constant babble of aroused noises coming out his mouth. “Oh god, fuck, you’re so good - lean forward, I want to fuck you harder.”

Artem’s cock jumps against his stomach as he bends, nearly collapsing onto the sheets as Mitch drives him down, both of them hot and tense with the effort. Mitch is curling over him, making Artem take both of their weight at the same time as pushing into him, hard - the height difference has proved as challenging as he thought, with unexpected benefits.

“I’m gonna come, let me blow you aft- _fuck,_ ” Artem nearly tries to say ‘no need’ but there’s really nothing he can do other than make a long, keened, whining noise as Mitch thrusts a few more times and just the thought of him being so caring leaves Artem trembling against the mattress, coming on the sheets.

Neither of them comes down from this very quickly, lying together quietly full of too much emotion to do much more than breathe. It’s more intense than any other sex he’s ever had in his life, more than most of even his and Mitch’s encounters - which feels ridiculous, for a simple fuck.

But it’s Mitch’s breath against his neck, Mitch’s arms reaching over and around him, Mitch’s nose in his hair - still wanting him, still needing him. They're good together.


End file.
